The Constant Stream
The thundering noise of the machines,
A baby crying in the distance.
Adrift in a fog, he tried to understand,
where was he?
He could see things moving, he held out his hand,
In a blur he felt the emptiness.
He could sense his mother’s smile,
Radiating calmness,
salvation.
A constant chattering in the background,
Made it hard for him to focus.
How long had his mother been dead?
He had to face this strange landscape
alone.
Sounds he couldn’t understand.
She had silenced the clamour,
With the softness of her voice.
He would fall asleep in her arms,
her soothing tone,
Drowning out the constant din around him.
He looked at the blood on his hands,
With a deafening clanging,
the knife fell to the ground.
Dropping to the floor,
He held his mother’s head in his hands.
Why had she left him?
How could he face the noises without her,
Without her beautiful smile?